


New Tune, Same Fiddle

by Meltha



Category: Fiddler on the Roof - Bock/Harnick/Stein
Genre: F/M, Gen, Monologue, Post-Canon, Talking to God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:10:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2829413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meltha/pseuds/Meltha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tevye discusses his problems in the New World with his old Friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Tune, Same Fiddle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blackbird_Song](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/gifts).



> No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is made on this fanfiction.

So once again, Lord, you choose me, hmm? I know you enjoy having your fun up there, looking down, seeing what mischief you can stir up for your friend Tevye, but I thought maybe, perhaps, when we left Anatevka, you might give me a little time to breathe for a moment. After all, you took a day off after creating the world. I know, I know, I didn’t start the earth spinning, but I’m just a simple man, as you know well.

I wasn’t expecting America to be quite so, well, American. It’s a good place, don’t misunderstand, and the czar is, as our beloved rabbi used to pray, far away from us. I miss the rabbi, Lord. I miss him and Lazar Wolf and even Yente. My Golde got a letter from her last week, did you know? What am I saying? Of course you know! She actually made it all the way to Jerusalem. All the way to the city of David! Imagine that, I know someone who lives where Solomon once walked. True, she thinks she’s smarter than he ever was, and I pity anyone who gets her talking because she’ll keep going until Elijah comes back, and even then she might not stop, but still, it’s a great thing. I’m happy for her. I wish I could be happy for the rest of the town, but honestly I don’t know where most of them are. I suppose you do, though. I hope you’re looking after them all. Someone needs to.

But this new thing, that was in the letter to me today. A note from Motel. Tzeitel has had another baby, but there was some trouble. She’s been very sick, Lord, and for a poor tailor from Anatevka living in Warsaw, that means the money he was saving to bring them all over here is going right to a doctor. He has no choice, of course. One thing I will say for that little tailor: he loves my daughter. But now, more waiting. I worry the waiting will turn into settling and settling into staying, and I don’t want them there. 

I know what it is to be free now. This place isn’t perfect. It’s not heaven, as you well know. I work ten hours a day in the shoe factory, six days a week, only the Sabbath free from toil. At least you did give us that, Lord, and I thank you. I do miss my cow, though, and the sweet air in the countryside. Bielke is in school, learning so fast it makes my head spin, and for free! School for girls, and it costs nothing! This place! Shprintze, though, she works too hard at the sewing machines in the garment district. It hurts to see her so tired. There’s still hatred here, but it’s not technically legal. That’s something at least. In a generation or two, maybe there will be a real difference. Maybe. But Motel and Tzeitel, Lord? Warsaw isn’t much better than Anatevka was. I want them to come here. I don’t like them so far away. And I miss my grandchildren. Is it so much to ask that I see the little ones?

Motel didn’t say it in so many words, but I think Tzeitel and Chava are speaking. I know, I know, Lord, I shouldn’t even be saying her name to you, but what’s the use in pretending with you? If I lie, you’re going to know, and if you know, then it’s just a completely pointless sin, right? So yes, I admit I’m happy Tzeitel and Chava are in contact. I hope that doesn’t make you angry, but if it does, I would venture to say it’s your turn since I’ve been angry enough. It’s a different world, even over there. Times change. I worry about her. I worry that Russian boy is going to up and leave one day, and then where will she belong, eh? Not one thing, not another, alone in Krakow, maybe a child or two by then? 

So, I worry. And make shoes. I’m starting to hate shoes. If you wanted man to walk around so much, why didn’t you give him the hooves of a horse on his feet? Not that I’m telling you how people should have been created. You probably have your own reasons, I’m sure. I just don’t know what they are, which, let’s be honest again, is not a new thing.

But Hodel, Lord? Nothing. Not a word from that frozen pit she followed her young man into with her eyes wide open but blinded by love. Could you, maybe, please keep your eye on that one in particular? Let her come home. Of course, home is an empty village now, but if you could see your way to getting her and that Perchik somewhere safe, if anywhere is? 

So that’s how things stand for your old friend Tevye. I have a poor, sick daughter in a faraway country who’s living with danger over her head, another who should be dead to me but who breaks my heart afresh every time I see a bird that reminds me of her, and yet another entombed in ice and snow, all of them beyond my reach. Another here toils like Sampson himself over a sewing machine, and the last, well, perhaps little Bielke has some hope. There can be hope here. That’s the difference, I suppose. If I dream of moving to the countryside, buying a little farm, and living in peace, it might only be a dream, but it’s possible. A little. A bit. But something is more than nothing.

You have a good day, Lord. Say hello to them all for me. Give them my love, please. And try to remember your friend Tevye sometimes when you’re in a good mood. When you’re not, eh, remember the czar instead, yes? Good then.


End file.
